There was an old man on the Border,
Who lived in the utmost disorder;
He danced with the cat, and made tea in his hat,
Which vexed all the folks on the Border.
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
So, art thou feahered, art thou flown,
Thou naked thing?-and canst alone
Upon the unsolid summer air
Sustain thyself, and prosper there?
Shall no more with anxious note